


Coming Undone

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Escape, Gen, Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is free of hell and revels in the differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Undone

**Author's Note:**

> for my [](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_30snapshots**](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/) [card](http://krystalicekitsu.livejournal.com/126604.html) for the prompt ' _dirt_ '.

  
Screams and fire and burning, blinding agony. Limbs flayed down to the marrow. Broken open. Exposed, raped, dissected, invaded, a-

Cold. Cold? No. Cool. Cool and soothing. Wet?

Sam Winchester gasps into the open, storming sky, sputtering and coughing when his open mouth fills with rain. He rolls to his side.

Green.

Green and golden swaying with the wind (wind? Oh, god _wind_ ) coming in fierce gusts against his skin. He shivers (oh god, he’s _cold_ ) and twists against the ground.

He’s alive.

He’s _free_. Oh, god sweet Jesus, he’s free.

He gasps again, coughing out a broken laugh among the peals of thunder that dissolves (evolves?) into a relieved, slightly hysterical series of fits and bursts, laughter and giggles spilling from his lips with as much enthusiasm as the water spilling from the sky.

 _He’s free_.

He twists around, face digging into the earth, the mud and dirt and water oozing into his scalp and his ear, squishing like clay against his jaw and his chin and his brow. He turns over fully, reaches out as far as he can, spread eagle, venerable.

Can’t care. Won’t.

Because he’s free and here and alive and nothing can hurt as much as that place, nothing at all.

The ground slicks as it clings, cool and sticky against his body and it feels _wonderful_. _Heavenly_.

Sam laughs again, digging his fingers into the mud, feeling it squish out between his fingers, suck against his toes, that cool, paste-y warmth that Hell never possessed and never bothered to reproduce.

This was something that Hell could never stain him with.


End file.
